The Beast's Roar
That beast's roar marked the beginning. Grayish-white masses surged toward the rooftop building where Jin-cheol's group and the soldiers stood, swarming like maggots.
Miguel and the revolutionaries quickly formed ranks facing every direction—a far more disciplined sight compared to the terrified, flailing Urata soldiers. Miguel shouted,
"Even a rough glance tells us these aren't the friendly type, right? Don't spare the ammo! Fire!"
Gunfire erupted in all directions at his command. The rat-tat-tat of shots, muzzle flashes, and billowing smoke filled the air. The lead white beasts collapsed in heaps.
"Keep firing as fast as you can reload!"
Bullets rained down from the rooftop onto the ground below. In moments, hundreds, thousands of rounds tore through the air, shredding the swarming white beasts to pieces. Their blood was a thick, near-black sludge. When the front-runners were ripped apart by bullets, the ones behind trampled right over the dark gore without hesitation.
"Kweeeeaak—!"
Covered in black blood over their pale hides, they howled with uncontrollable vitality and madness. Even the revolutionaries' eyes flickered with fear at the sight. Despite dozens dying every second on the beasts' side.
"S-save me! The airship! Take me on the airship! We can't beat those monsters!"
The Urata rabbits who'd been on the rooftop originally were even more terrified. Clutching the ropes and rope ladders lowered from the Comintern, they crawled up, sobbing hysterically.
Someone tapped Jin-cheol's leg as he watched. Looking down, he saw Aiman.
"We need to concentrate our fire. It's too spread out right now."
Jin-cheol shot him a look that said, So what? Aiman raised his staff and continued.
"If we take one sector, we can focus the firepower nicely, don't you think?"
"...You want us to jump down there?"
"It'll be good training. Hey, Kapitan!"
He pointed at one side toward Miguel, who was watching him, then bolted in that direction. Without a word, Miguel understood and yelled to the soldiers in that direction.
"3rd Platoon! Fall back and support the other sectors!"
The men, slightly spooked but blasting away at the front, lowered their guns without hesitation. At the same moment, Aiman kicked off the rooftop railing and leaped down.
"Crazy old bastard. Is jumping in there barehanded really the play?"
Jin-cheol muttered in disbelief, but his body was already following, launching off the rooftop after Aiman. Landing with a thud from the 3rd or 4th floor height, he spotted the owl-masked figure landing lightly beside him and let out a hollow laugh.
"You sane too?"
"..."
Snow answered by drawing her spear and charging straight ahead. Ahead of her, Aiman had already drawn his greatsword and decapitated one of the white beasts.
"Melee in the 121st century? My specialty was the rifle..."
As he grumbled, a white-bladed ray sword appeared in Jin-cheol's right hand. The gauntlet that generated his shield had blocked one cannon round and was now busted. Haeta the sorceress said it might repair itself with time, but that didn't change the fact he couldn't use it right now. At least these beasts didn't have guns.
"Fuck it, whatever."
Muttering briefly, Jin-cheol shot forward. His swinging blade caught two or three beasts' torsos, slicing them apart in one go. Black blood sprayed.
"Kweeeeaak!"
Up close, the beasts were even more repulsive. Their recessed eye sockets, like drilled holes, gleamed with bloodshot corneas—if they could even see. The eyes wriggled in opposite directions. Their pale skin had a faint dark sheen, likely from the black blood pulsing beneath. Wrinkled joints oozed yellowish pus that had hardened. At least eight had rotting wounds. Stabbing a blade into that made curses spill out naturally.
"Fuck!"
"Don't get mesmerized by their looks! These things are way faster than they seem!"
Aiman's shout. He was right—the ones closing in were shockingly quick. Hunched low, they barely reached Jin-cheol's waist, then dropped even lower, skittering almost on their bellies. From afar, a burst from a gun mowed them down easy. But facing them blade-to-blade, that height was a nightmare. Jin-cheol compensated by moving faster. Still, one dodged his swing.
"Kieeek!"
It lunged left, stabbing at his inner thigh. Jin-cheol spotted a finger-length blade protruding from its palm. These fuckers have weapons?
A blade flashed, severing the beast's neck. Aiman's sword.
"A weapon is an extension of the hand. More precisely, an extension of limbs. It builds new possibilities atop the limited motions of flesh. An extension of will reaching beyond the body's limits, transcending racial boundaries."
Aiman danced his blade dance again, as he'd shown before. Amid beasts charging with palm-sized blades, he kept perfect distance with every step—not too far, not too close—swinging his greatsword with waist, shoulders, and full arms. Flesh and bone caught in the arc sliced clean.
"That limit. It's what you must shatter most right now—your racial limits. For some reason, your body and mind are misaligned. Your flesh is at a master's realm, but your spirit clings to mortal bounds."
He bent at the waist, hand to his side, spinning the greatsword. Less an attack, more a flourish in a dance. Yet four white beasts lost their heads to the whirl.
"Far southwest of Sandesiya, in the Shushin Forest, dwells a massive beast with a beautiful long trunk. Called the Ganesang. It doesn't speak or build civilizations, but it's wise and intelligent. I believe they have communities hidden in the Shushin depths. Anyway, among Sandesiya's thugs, some vile scum capture and enslave them."
Growing wary of closing in, the white beasts switched to ramming with numbers. Sacrifice one or two to the blade, let the rest pile in—a brutal tactic. Aiman nullified it by springing back lightly, whirling his greatsword. Anything caught in the long blade's path—front or rear—got diced.
"Those thugs kill adult Ganesang and rear the young ones captive. One method: tether them young with short ropes. Even grown, bound by childhood memory, they never cross that invisible line. The limit is set."
While Aiman neatly carved up the beasts, Jin-cheol flung his body around, drenched in black blood. He kicked close ones away, swung the ray sword, dodged leg-stabbers, and smashed fists like hammers. No elegant moves. The ape-like beasts died more to punches, kicks, and headbutts than the blade.
Jin-cheol grabbed a beast biting his forearm by the head with his left hand, crushing it with a crunch, and yelled,
"So what's your point?!"
"You're a Ganesang. A Ganesang tens of thousands of catties strong. One that topples forests and cities with mere steps, shatters walls with a push—a mythic Ganesang. Right now, you're tethered. But realize the rope is nothing, and you'll wield heaven-shaking might."
By then, Miguel on the rooftop was radioing the Comintern. The battlecarrier's cannons locked on the building.
Miguel shouted,
"Fire!"
A thunderous thoom-thoom echoed as shells arced over the ant-swarm beasts toward the building. Kaboom! Flames erupted around the structure.
Aiman shook off his blade facing the blaze, turning to Jin-cheol.
"What if a Ganesang that topples walls with its bulk learned martial arts? No need for deep mysteries. Just the basics, and you'd be unmatched. Faster and stronger than any."
"..."
He grinned at the black-blood-soaked, blank-faced Jin-cheol.
"So watch closely and steal what you can. Unless you want to stay this filthy."
Jin-cheol smirked back. A martial arts elephant. Sounds like one badass title.
After the Comintern's barrage, the ant-like white beasts retreated, leaving hundreds of corpses. Yet the Urata soldiers showed no joy. Their leader, Lieutenant Jarmen, trembling, said,
"...The cannons fired several times even before the general retreated. This just bought time. They'll come back. Next time, hidden in the dark, stealthily..."
Their gloom infected the revolutionaries' morale. Miguel's command prevented panic or flight, but even they feared the beasts that swarmed like they knew no death.
Miguel decided to examine the least damaged corpse.
"Hmm... Eyes half-formed, no fur on the skin. Wrinkles ooze pus—seems like secretions from the whole body that rot where they pool."
Like his doctor title wasn't a gamble, he inspected meticulously, even slicing open the chest with a dagger.
"Hmmm. This..."
"What?"
Jin-cheol, wiping blood from his face with a towel Haeta had given him, asked at Miguel's grim look.
Miguel rubbed his chin, then looked up. Everyone—Jin-cheol's group, revolutionaries, even Urata soldiers—focused on him. Face hardening, he continued,
"...The internals are too familiar. From the looks, I suspected, but these might be kin to our race."
"Rabbit kin? Isn't that obvious from the ears?"
"..."
As Jin-cheol said, no need to gut it—the big, long ears and skeleton screamed rabbit ancestry. But unlike Jin-cheol's nonchalance, the other rabbits were horrified, eyes flicking between corpse and Miguel in shock and dread.
"...Secure the outpost first. Quit gawking and move!"
At Miguel's bellow, the rabbits scattered. Jin-cheol stayed, nonchalantly cleaning blood.
He shrugged at Miguel's deep gaze. Whatever, man. Skip ten millennia yourself, and you'll get numb too.
After the assault, more Comintern troops descended, fortifying around the old city hall. They reinforced crude barricades, unloaded heavy weapons. Dol Jumeok brought down his truck—now a near-tank with cannon, machine gun, and armored plating.
And in the cockpit? Maro. Only his small size fit after all the armaments.
As they bustled, new arrivals: Rostang civilians and soldiers drawn by the commotion and blasts.
"Jaso citizens this way! Urata civilians and soldiers that way! Hey, you! You a Jaso?"
The revolutionaries took them all in but sorted by nationality. No choice—Urata soldiers were war criminals to them. Easy to spot: the ragged, gaunt, exhausted were all Jaso. The rare disguised Urata got ratted out instantly.
"N-no! I'm Jaso! My m-mother was Jaso! She was!"
They resisted like heading to the gallows. Clear why: they expected the same atrocities they'd inflicted on Jasos.
Jin-cheol sensed it wasn't just forced labor. Miguel ordered his men to uncover Rostang's full horrors.
Lamien was busy too, grabbing every newcomer asking for Epani. With Dol Jumeok and Jin-cheol as guards, they answered meekly. Mostly "no idea," but some leads.
"That woman? Uh, think I saw her in the west sector. Shared bread with me."
A haggard Jaso said. Lamien tracked west workers, soon finding someone who knew.
"...She was captured."
"What?"
"By those monsters. Like so many others."
He mumbled into his knees. Jin-cheol checked Lamien's face—She collapsing? But she just stiffened, no tears, no breakdown. Straight to Miguel.
"...What're you planning?"
"Going underground."
Miguel, briefing officers, glanced at Jin-cheol behind her, sighed.
"Obvious why. Your lover's taken..."
"Yes. I'm going to find her. Reporting to the commander here first."
"Denied."
"...What?"
Rubbing his brow, Miguel continued.
"Didn't you see the fight? They're beasts. To kill, not conquer. Better collapse the open underground entrance than dive in. Two clear benefits."
He spread fingers.
"One: Avoid needless deaths. The outpost's chaotic enough with rescues. It'll worsen—we must protect them. Two: Bury Rahman’s elite and his would-be rescuers—even post-surrender."
He skipped details before the crowd: Muksaang House and their "emissary" buried too. Lamien got it.
But she replied calmly,
"Approved or not, I'm going. For Epani and all the captives below."
"..."
She stepped forward. Thoughtless Dol Jumeok followed half a step; silent Snow in the command post stepped too. Direct defiance.
The mood soured. Half the officers seemed to back Lamien; half scowled at her rebellion.
Then Jin-cheol caught Miguel's lip twitch—a sly tell only his sharp eyes would spot.
Jin-cheol's own lips curled. Sly fox.